


Cho-Q-lat

by soufflegirl91



Series: Souffle's Choose Your Own Adventure April [2]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, is this cracky? maybe, the Chocolat AU nobody asked for but I wrote anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23544472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soufflegirl91/pseuds/soufflegirl91
Summary: A mysterious chocolate maker descends on a quiet little village. And who is this coming down the river? (For The Moonraker Marshes in the CYOA April challenge)
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Souffle's Choose Your Own Adventure April [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691788
Comments: 10
Kudos: 50
Collections: MI6 Cafe Collections





	Cho-Q-lat

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should apologise for this one. I came up with the idea of a Chocolat AU for Fest last year, but as no one ever wrote it, I decided it still counts as "an AU you haven't seen before" as it was my idea. 
> 
> This is part of the MI6 Cafe Choose Your Own Adventure April challenge. You may notice a theme here, and that theme is "all of these unrelated works are completely mental". You're welcome.

_Once upon a time there was a quiet little village whose people believed in tranquility. If you lived in this village, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the grand scheme of things. And if you happened to forget, someone would remind you._

_In this village, if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you learned to look the other way. If by chance your hopes had been disappointed, you learned never to ask for more._

_So, through good times and bad, famine and feast, the villages held fast to their traditions._

_Until, one winter day, a sly wind blew in from the north._

-

The door slammed shut behind the mysterious gentleman, waking the room’s only other occupant from her nap. 

“Who the hell are you?” The fierce old lady, known only as M, was grumpy at having her rest disturbed.

“Oh, erm… I’m here about the patisserie. I’d like to rent it. And the apartment above.” The young man looked sheepish, nervously mussing his already-windswept hair and only succeeding in making it look even more like a bird’s nest. 

“I didn’t ask why you were here. Who the hell are you?” 

“Right. Sorry. You can call me Q, Mrs... Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” 

“M. Just M. Where are you from?”

“Well, I lived in Paris for a while. Let’s see, before that, London, Vienna, Budapest, Athens…”

M harrumphed. Whoever this young upstart was, he clearly wouldn’t be staying very long. 

-

“I heard he was some kind of radical.”

“I heard he’s a witch.”

“Don’t be silly, Madeleine, men can’t be witches. _I heard_ he’s on the run.”

“I heard he’s an atheist.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t know.” 

-

Not long after the mysterious young man arrived in the village, the patisserie re-opened. But it _wasn’t_ a patisserie anymore. 

“A chocolaterie? Here?”

“During lent?”

“He’ll be out of work in a week.” 

“What a ridiculous idea.”

“Poor, misguided creature. And an atheist, too. May God have mercy on his soul.”

The neighbours all grumbled, gossiping about the dark-haired stranger who had the gall to sell _chocolate_ during a time of fasting but, one by one, their curiosity got the better of them.

-

“Tell me sir, what do you see in this?” 

“It’s just a spinning plate.” 

Q’s first accidental customer had come in to look at the displays so that he could report back to his church friends about the heathen chocolate shop. Mr Tanner hadn’t counted on being asked to _look into spinning plates._

“Use your imagination. What do you _see?_ ”

“Oh. I see…. A woman, riding a white horse,” Mr Tanner chuckled nervously. “What a silly answer.”

“Not at all,” Q beamed. “There are no silly answers. The pepper triangle, that’s for you. A tiny hint of chilli, to play against the sweetness. Very adventurous.” 

Q passed over a triangular piece of chocolate. Mr Tanner saw no other option but to eat it. 

The _taste!_ The way it melted on his tongue! Creamy, right sweetness followed up by a tiny tang of chilli. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“How much are those chilli thingies, please?” 

“Three pounds a box.”

“Could you put a ribbon on it? That way I can pretend they’re for my wife.”

“Of course. And here,” Q passed over a packet of… something. “These are for your wife. Unrefined cocoa nibs from Guatemala. To awaken the passion.” 

He winked. Mr Tanner scoffed.

“Clearly, you haven’t met my wife.”

“Clearly, you’ve never tried these.” 

-

Mr Tanner was just the first. Soon, all of the villagers had tried Q’s chocolate creations. Every time a new customer came into the shop, Q spun the plate and asked what they saw. Everyone saw something different, and Q picked out a different product for them to try. 

He always guessed their favourites. 

-

“Have you got any more of those bean thingies, please?” asked Mr Tanner, arm around his wife. The pair of them looked like they had been having a _very_ good time of things lately.

“How many do you want?”

“How many have you got?” 

-

Within a few weeks, business was _booming._ Q had even taken on a helper. Miss Moneypenny had a knack with the locals, a good head for working out change, and was picking up the art of making chocolate like a pro. Things were going well. 

Then one quiet afternoon, someone else arrived along the dull, green waters of the river Wye.

-

Q had been out for a walk along the river when he noticed the boat. When he approached, he noticed a blond haired man with prominent ears fixing the moorings. 

“Hello. How do you do?” 

“I’d like to apologise. Sincerely,” the man fixed his ice-blue eyes on Q and smiled coldly. 

“Whatever for?” 

“For whatever it is you’re here to accuse me of.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“Well, _everyone_ knows that people who live on the river must be the dregs of society. With horrible diseases and criminal tendencies.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Q murmured, dryly, startling a laugh out of the blue-eyed man. “Is it true?”

“It’s what you townspeople seem to think.”

“Ah, well that’s where you’re going wrong. Not my town. Sorry,” he shrugged. The boatman raised a curious eyebrow. 

“So what is it, then? Are you here to save me? The Red Cross? Temperance League? Which idea are you selling?”

“Chocolate.”

This brought the man up short.

“I’m sorry, _chocolate?_ ” 

“Chocolate. I’m Q, nice to meet you.”

“The name’s Bond. James Bond.” 


End file.
